


Dazed And Confused

by imherecauseimnotallthere98



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Flirting, Blood No Gore, Confused Dean, Curses, Dean Flirts, Dean Hates Witches, Dean is a BAMF, Douchbags, Drinking, Flirting, Gender or Sex Swap, Girl Dean, Hunters & Hunting, Menstration, Mentions of Masturbation, Objectification, Periods, Pissed Off Dean, Poor Dean, Tampons, Witch Curses, Witch Hunters, Witchcraft, fem!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-18
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2018-02-21 16:04:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2474150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imherecauseimnotallthere98/pseuds/imherecauseimnotallthere98
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a witch hunt, Dean gets hit with a curse. When he wakes up a few hours later, he discovers, to his confusion and horror, that he is a woman. Now him, Sam, Bobby and Castiel are all trying to find the witch who cursed him, in the hopes that they can make her turn him back. Along the way, Dean gets a taste of what being a woman is like, including being hit on by douchbags, and a visit from aunt flow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dazed And Confused

**Author's Note:**

> I got the idea for this fic stuck in my head one day, and I couldn't stop laughing at the thought of Dean being forced to learn how to adapt to being a chick. I just kept picturing him standing in an isle of a store, with shelves of tampons and liners and pads in front of him, and not having a clue what he needed and slowly getting more hysterical. Hope you guys enjoy! Kudos and comments would make my day!  
> I still use "him, he and his" for Dean even when he's a woman, because in his mind, and kinda in everyone else's mind too, Dean in still a guy. Still Sam's big brother and Bobby's adopted son.  
> PS: the / / means it's italicized. So either a thought, or emphasis. I still haven't figured out how to italicize  
> I own nothing. Characters are from Supernatural, title is from Led Zeppelin

"So we're sure she's a witch?" Dean asked, still focusing on helping organize the trunk of his Impala. Man, it really was a mess back here, he had to give Sam credit for always having it so organized when he had the car on hunts.  
It wasn't like Dean didn't try to keep it in some kind of order, it was just, sometimes a hunt went wrong, or they knew they only had so much time before the cops showed up, and they ended up just throwing their stuff in and high tailing it out of town.

/“Oh well.”/

As far as Dean was concerned, he made up for it by keeping the rest on the car running smoothly.  
He slid the clip of his .45 out and made sure it was loaded. Taping it against the butt of the gun, he slid the loaded mag back in and tucked the gun into the back of his pants.

"Yeah." Sam answered, loading his own 9mm. "There were two hex bags in Olivia's house, and everyone I talked to said Tracy had a grudge against her."

Dean grunted his acknowledgement. He hated witches. Every time he and Sam had to deal with one, bad things happened. It was almost inevitable that at least one of them would get hit with some nasty curse in the process of ganking the thing. He was just glad they didn't need some weird ass weapon to take them out.  
Silver bullets and iron axes were one thing, but a month ago, he and Sam had killed a roman god who had gone a little rogue and started handing out Colombian neckties. And of course the only thing that could kill it was some horn of a goat that had been sacrificed to the god, and those weren't exactly just laying around.  
As far as witches went though, they were just people. Bullets, knives, conceivably anything could take them out, which was a nice change.

Once they were both ready, Dean shut the trunk of the Impala and locked it. He had parked just across the street from their suspect's house, 'cause hey, sometimes they needed to bail quick.

It was already dark out, and most of the lights in the other houses were turned off. Including the ones in Tracy's house. They just had to hope they were right about this, and that they would get the jump on her.

Dean stood behind Sam as his brother picked the lock, blocking most of him from view if anyone happened to glance outside or walk by.

Once the door swung open, they crept in quickly and shut it behinds them.  
It was dark in the house, barely any light coming in from the windows. Both Winchesters pulled out their guns in readiness, raising them in front of them.  
Light on their feet, they slowly moved down the hallway that lead to the living room. Sam was watching around the other corner when he felt Dean tap his shoulder. Turning to look, he saw his brother pointing to the alter set up on the coffee table, and the unfortunate dead rabbit that was being bled into a bowl. Yup, she was definitely their witch.

"Always a friggin' rabbit. Come on!" Dean complained in a hushed whisper.

Before Sam turned away, Dean gestured for him to check down here. Sam nodded and watched his brother make his was towards the stairs.

Dean was as quiet as he could be on the stairs, but it was an older house, and a few of them creaked under his weight. Grimacing at a particularly loud one, he stopped and listened. He didn't hear anything upstairs, but that didn't mean she hadn't heard him. Slowly, he started moving up the stairs again. Thankfully, the last few steps were silent. Once he reached the top, he crept to the first door on his right. Slowly, he turned the knob, wincing again when it creaked a little.

Peering into the dark room, he could immediately tell it was her bedroom. He saw clothes all over the floor, a messy dresser, and a bed. An empty bed. Shit. Pushing the door open more, he saw that the room was empty too.  
He paused as he was pulling back out of the room. It wasn't like he'd necessarily heard something, it was more like the absence of no sound. When suddenly it isn't completely silent, but there isn't anything distinct either, just the feeling that there was a noise.  
Turning back, the hunter practically jumped out of his skin when he was suddenly face to face with who he could only assume was Tracy. He moved to raise his gun, but she was ready. She swung the bat Dean suddenly realized she had, aiming high. It hit him in the head before he could duck, and he stumbled back into the wall.  
Tracy didn't let up. She followed him as he hit the wall, dropping the bat and gripping Dean by his arms to hold him when he tried to move. He was dizzy, and in the struggle had dropped his gun. He could feel his body trying to pass out, the blow to the head followed by being slammed into the wall had made everything fuzzy and hard to focus on. He mussed for a moment that he might have a concussion, and therefore needed to stay awake. He tried to make a grab for the knife he kept tucked into his boot, but Tracy was stronger than she looked, and Dean was still trying to figure out exactly what had happened.  
Through his haze, he thought he heard her chanting something, and some part of his mind knew that couldn't be good. He wanted to fight her off, but his only option really was to try and kick her, and he couldn't seem to get his legs to work.  
Her chanting ended and she let go of his arms. That's when he realized her pinning him was pretty much the only thing that had been keeping him standing. He dropped to the floor in a heap and heard her running away. He couldn't tell where, he was too busy focusing on the pain he was starting to feel. It was bone deep and everywhere, and getting worse by the second. He grunted in pain and curled in on himself. On the bright side, the pain was keeping him awake.

"Dean?" He heard Sam say in a worried tone.

"Sam," He rasped back. His lungs felt like they were on fire, and everything hurt like he'd been hit by a car. He could feel the blackness creeping back again, and he let himself sink into the oblivion.

 

Dean slowly became aware of the fact the was laying on his back on something softer than a floor. He opened his eyes and winced at the light. From what he could see, he guessed this was the motel room he'd rented. His head hurt and he felt sore.

"Dean? Hey, Dean?"

Dean looked over to the other bed where Sam was sitting and watching him. Groaning, the older hunter sat up, wincing again at his sore muscles. He felt more than sore though, he felt different. Like his whole body was just...off. And what the hell was touching his face?

"Sam?"

He froze and his eyes widened at his voice. It was lighter and higher pitched...feminine?

"Dean, before you freak out-"

"What the hell did she do to me, Sam?" He interrupted his brother, his voice shocking him again. He didn't really wait for an answer. Getting up, he stumbled as fast as he could to the bathroom.

He flipped on the light, and the only noise he could make was a choked guffaw. His face was slimmer and stubble free, his adam's apple gone. His lips and eye lashes were fuller. His hair was longer than normal, dark blond bangs covered his forehead and falling into his eyes in a sweeping kind of cut. Backing up see more of himself, he almost squeaked when he saw he had boobs. Boobs and wider hips and a much slimmer frame. He was at least a good five inches shorter. For a second he mused that he looked a little like his mom did before she had kids, he had her face shaped and only a slightly thicker build. His mouth was hanging open as he looked at himself. Fuck, he was a friggin' chick! Pulling out the waist of his now very loose jeans and boxers, he looked down.

/Son of a bitch!/

He was a girl! What the hell?! He slowly left the bathroom, shock settling in.

"I'm...I'm..." He stuttered, wide eyes watching his brother.

"Dean, just relax."

"Don't tell me to frigging relax! I'm a fucking chick!" He snapped, his own new voice doing a good job of reminding him of that.

Sam held his hands up and out, something he did when trying to control to situation and get people to calm down.

"I know. Look, all we have to do is find the witch and make her turn you back. We'll fix this, okay?"

Dean was pacing the room, his loose clothes not helping him to calm down. He grabbed his flask and sat down, unscrewing the top with hands that he decided where too damn dainty for his liking.  
The alcohol didn't help much, but the burning sensation was a little comforting and a mild distraction.

"What happened?" He asked. The booze had made his voice a little rough, but not nearly deep enough. His took another sip.

"I ran upstairs when I heard you two fighting. I got there and you were on the floor, she was gone. You blacked out pretty quick once you started to...change." Sam finished uncertainly, gesturing at Dean's new body.

Dean took another long pull from his flask. As his eyes wandered, he saw the bedside clock. It was already four in the morning and he hadn't slept since his nap the night before.  
A wave of fatigue hit him and he felt his eyes get heavy. Draining the last bit out of his flask, he tossed it onto the stand.

"We should call Bobby." Dean heard Sam say.

"No way." Dean argued. "Bobby wouldn't let me live this down. I'll have to put up with his jokes 'till I'm dead."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"Fine. What about Cas? He might be able to turn you back, or at least help us track down the witch."

Dean didn't really want anyone else to know about this, but if it was between telling Bobby or telling Cas, he'd pick the little nerdy guy with wings any day.

Sighing, he let his head hang down and closed his eyes.

"Cas, you got your ears on? Look, we got a...situation here that needs rectifying, thought maybe you could help. So...can ya MMMBop your way down here?" He asked, cracking his eyes open and looking around the room.

The loud flap of wings alerted the two brothers to the angel's prompt arrival.

"Dean? What happened to you?" He asked, actually sounding concerned, frowning a little as he looked the hunter up and down.

"What do you think happened to me?" Dean snapped. "Some witch bitch turned me into a fuckin' girl!"

Castiel was unaffected by Dean's mood. He moved closer to further examine the hunter.

"She must be quite powerful."

Dean stood and moved towards the middle of the room.

"Yeah, we guessed that." He huffed out. "I'll be sure to tell her an angel is impressed right before I blow her brains out. Now," He held his arms out. "You wanna get to fixing this?"

Cas looked away.

"Dean, I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?" Sam said in a disbelieving tone. "I thought you were large and in charge again."

"The witch put a powerful spell on Dean, I do not have the power to remove it. The only one who can reverse it is her."

Dean groaned. Fuck, a brake cannot be caught. Practically grinding his teeth now, he forced his voice to stay mostly calm.

"Okay, fine. Where is she?"

The angel shook his head.

"I don't know. A witch as powerful as her...I'm sure she is hiding herself from all creatures, and has warded where ever she is."

Dean was damn near fuming now. His voice was stained when he spoke.

"So, you can't do anything, and if we can't find her...I'm stuck like this? For the rest of my /life/?"

Castiel cast about for something to say. He stuttered out a few noises before he finally got something out.

"I...I think you look...pretty, Dean." He said awkwardly.

"Yeah? Cram it, Cas." Dean said, sounding vaguely annoyed, already moving back to pacing.

He caught sight of Sam, who looked torn between wanting to smile and wanting to cringe.

"Shut up, Sam." Dean said curtly.

"I didn't say anything."

Sam held up his hands as if surrendering, but the smile trying to creep onto his face was a dead give away.

Castiel shifted, reminding the brothers he was still there.

"I am sorry, I must return to Heaven. If I hear anything useful, I'll let you know."

And with that, he vanished.

Dean plopped back down on his own bed, his bone deep fatigue taking over again.

"I'm gonna, uh, try to get some shut eye." He mumbled, rubbing his face. He didn't see Sam's now concerned look, he would have ignored it anyway if he had.

Dean stood up and shucked off his jeans and over shirt, climbing under the blankets and flopping onto his stomach.

/“Shit, that hurt.”/

He tried shifting around, but no matter how he laid on his stomach, his boobs felt squished and sore. Scowling, he rolled onto his side and crossed his arms over his chest. It wasn't that comfy either, but he didn't care. He closed his eyes and tried to make his mind go blank long enough to fall sleep.

 

The next morning, Dean woke up before Sam did. God, he hated waking up just because he had to pee. It was always early on cold mornings when he was warm and comfy in bed, and he could never fall asleep again. Grumbling, he flung the warm covers back and stumbled to the bathroom.  
It was still mostly dark in the room. All the blinds were shut as per usual, and the sun was trying to shine through them.  
Dean half closed the door and fumbled with his boxers, trying to move them out of the way so he could-

/"Oh."/

Yeah, he'd forgotten. He couldn't pee standing up anymore.

 

Sam was mostly sitting up when Dean came back out of the bathroom. He looked tired, but that changed as soon as he saw his brother...sister...sibling. Sitting up more, he ran his fingers through his hair.

"Hey." He called, rubbing his eyes with the heals of his hands.

"Hey." Dean responded. His own voice was a little gravelly and deep from sleep.

"How are you doing?" Sam asked.

His tone and the fact that he asked at all immediately pissed Dean off, and he had to rein himself from snapping. It was a perfectly innocent, well meaning question after all.

"I'm just peachy."

Okay, so he sounded a bit snarky, so what? He felt entitled to be bitchy, it had been a rough couple of hours.  
Sam ignored the tone and decided to just leave his sister...brother...sibling thing alone for a bit. He climbed out of his own bed and grabbed his duffel.

"I'm gonna take a shower."

Dean grunted and nodded, busy looking through his own duffel for clothes that would fit him.

"I have nothing to wear." He grumbled. The irony behind him saying that made him want to stick his head in a microwave.

 

Dean took his turn in the shower once Sam was out. He was once again forcibly reminded he was actually a she now as he cleaned himself off, and he wanted to kill the damn witch even more. This all just felt so damn weird.  
As he stepped out of the stall, he wrapped the towel around himself, but couldn't figure out that neat little tuck all his girlfriends had done, and he sure as shit wasn't doing the head wrap thing, so he settled for holding the towel up with one hand. He padded into the room to grab his duffel, and hurried back into the bathroom once he had it.

 

As he was drying off, he realized again that not only did his clothes not fit now, but they were all guy's clothes, and he was missing some key girl things. Grumbling, he pulled on his smallest shirt, which he still swam in, and a pair of sweats with an elastic waist that should be tight enough to hold themselves up.  
Toweling his thankfully still mostly short hair, he walked out of the bathroom. Pulling on an over-shirt, he grabbing his keys and his wallet.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked.

Dean turned and saw Sam packing up his own bag while watching his brother and waiting for an answer.

/“None of your damn business, that's where.”/ He snarled internally. He grit his teeth and held back the smart remark.

"I just gotta get some things. I'll be back in like an hour."

Without waiting for any acknowledgement, he turned and left. And yeah, maybe he slammed the door a little, but he had every right to be pissed off, and Sam could just deal with it, the nosey bitch.

 

Well, his "hour" long outing soon turned into a four hour one. By the time he got back to the motel, he was in an even worse mood, and really slammed the door this time. If Sam knew what was good for him, he wouldn't say a word until Dean had either a couple beers, or a couple fingers of whiskey.  
Dean didn't say anything when he got back, he just carried his two bags into the bathroom, slamming that door too.

/“Jesus, shopping for clothes as a girl is fucking ridiculous.”/ He decided. All the sizes were weird, and everything fit badly and was either too tight or way to baggy, and it was all so friggin' /expensive/. All he'd wanted was like two t-shirts and some jeans, just something that fit better until he was back to normal, but trying to find ones that weren't designed to fit some seven foot tall bean pole was damn near impossible. And every different brand name had different sizes, so a size seven in one style was too small, but in others it was too big. Fuck, how did women /ever/ find clothes? And why did they /like/ shopping? It was awful.  
In the end Dean finally found a few plain, okay fitting shirts, and two pairs of jeans that were almost comfy, but he wasn't used to how tight they were. His old jeans had been nice and comfy, and hadn't restricted his movement at all, these ones rode down whenever he moved, and were tight all around. He didn't like them, but he was tired of wandering around stores with some preppy teenage girl trying to help him, so he decided he could suck it up until they could turn him back.

That still wasn't to worst of it though. He'd thought trying to find clothes was bad, but trying to find a fucking bra?  
First of all, he'd never shopped for bras before in his life. Ever. He'd never even bought lingerie for past girlfriends, so he had no frame of reference for what the hell size /he'd/ need.  
Second, just like with the jeans, all the different brands had different sizes, and some of them were just ridiculously inaccurate.  
And third, there was a fucking /huge/ selection. Underwire, push up, sports bras, half a dozen others. He'd tried on at least six before he'd found one that he though fit okay, the whole time having to deal with the looks he was getting from the people working the changing rooms. Well, he hadn't known what he was looking for, so yeah, he'd taken his time.

Once he had all that picked out, he'd had to grab some different underwear too, 'cause fuck, boxers rubbed weird and weren't comfy when they didn't...have anything to hold up.

And finally, /finally/, he'd had everything he guessed he'd needed, and had been able to leave.

 

And now here he was, four hours later, back at the motel at last.

Sam was smart, and waited Dean to speak first. His brother came out of the bathroom a few minutes later in plain blue jeans, a black t-shirt and his old green over-shirt which was way too big on him, but Dean was stubborn enough to wear it anyway. His hair was messy and he looked pissed, but a little better considering.

"So how are we gonna track the bitch down? I mean, Cas said she would have warded herself against everything."

Sam went with his brother's all work attitude. He shrugged a little, he hadn't been totally sure on that either.

"Uh...well, she had friends here, right? We could interview them, see if they know where she is staying."

Dean nodded. He was in the middle of pouring that drink he'd needed after his shopping fiasco. He didn't talk again until he'd downed half of it.

"Okay, let's grab what we need and head out."

As Dean packed his own weapons duffel, he was slowly becoming aware of an ache in his lower stomach. Deciding it was probably a combination of not eating since breakfast yesterday and drinking today, he ignored it. He had a high tolerance for pain, and it would probably go away after a while.  
As the Winchester put the last gun in and was doing a sweep of the room to make sure he hadn't forgotten anything, he felt the ache growing worse. It was now very noticeable, and unpleasant, and he could feel the pain spreading to his lower back. He was beginning to wonder if the witch's curse had done something else to him, after all, it wouldn't be the first time. Witches had a nasty habit of making people cough up needles or teeth or razor blades.  
He was about to tell Sam something was wrong, or more wrong, when he felt something warm and wet between his legs.

/“No. No no no, and more no. This was/ not /happening.”/

Leaving his bag, Dean rushed to the bathroom as quickly as he could without looking suspicious, and closed the door behind him, locking it firmly even though he knew Sam wouldn't come in.  
He quickly pulled down his jeans and underwear, his dread growing. This couldn't happen. It just couldn't. Bad enough some bitch had poofed his junk away, but now he might have to deal with-

/“Fuck!”/

Yup, blood. God fucking damn it. He was on the rag. Well, that was just great, now he'd have to track down and kill a witch while he was-

/“Son of a bitch!”/

His pissed off attitude which had been ebbing away slowly with booze and the thought of a hunt returned full swing.  
Sighing in frustration, he pulled up his pants a little and started searching the bathroom. Come on, motels must have some emergency supplies in their bathrooms, or someone staying here before must have forgotten one before they left.  
His luck took a swing for the better, and he found a pad under the sink. Grabbing it, he grimaced at the stupid frilly packaging, but pulled down his pants and sat on the toilet to put it on.

 

After burying the wrapper deep in the trash can, he cleaned himself off as best he could. Once he was done, he thoroughly washed his hands and walked back out into the main room, ignoring the look he got from Sam.

Fuck, the pain was getting worse. His back ached and he felt like someone had just kicked him in the stomach. Forcing himself not to double over when a particularly sharp jolt hit him, he grabbed his clothes bag from under the bed. His motions were almost frantic as he dug through the side pocket for his pain killers. His fingers fumbled around the bottle once he had it, but he didn't drop it. Dean poured one pill into his hand, but as the ache grew worse by the second, he thought /fuck it/ and dumped out another one.

The brothers always had a bottle of whiskey handy. It worked well for disinfecting wounds before they stitched them up, and it worked even better as memory wipe when a hunt went south.  
Dean grabbed the bottle out of Sam's bag, still ignoring the looks he was getting, and unscrewed the cap as fast as he could. Fuck, he was in /pain/. This was ridiculous, he just needed it to /stop/.  
Finally getting the cap off, he dumped the two pills into his mouth and chugged. Even once he knew he'd swallowed them, he took a few more swigs.  
Finally setting the bottle down, he sank down on Sam's bed, 'cause his own was three feet away and that was just too far to move until the pills did their job.

/“Oh, fuck no. Please no.”/

He was starting to feel nauseous. His stomach did a slow roll and he felt it clench like he was gonna throw up.

/“No, no no no. Come on.”/

Jesus, did all women go through this?

"Dean?"

/“Leave me alone, Sam.”/

"Dean? You okay?"

/“Do I fucking look okay?”/

"I'm fine, Sam. Just give me a few minutes."

Sam, to his credit, didn't ask anymore questions. Dean figured he'd either figured out what was happening, which would suck, or just knew from Dean's tone not to push for more.

/“Well, good!”/

He shouldn't be pushing for anything. He was lucky Dean didn't wring his neck for even talking in that tone.

The pills didn't completely take the pain away, but they did dull it and stop the nausea enough that it was possible for Dean to finish packing. He closed up his weapons bag and stuffed his clothes one back under the bed. Grabbing everything he needed, he swiped the keys off the table and headed out the door without waiting for Sam. Luckily his brother had been done packing a good ten minutes before Dean was, so he was ready to go anyways. He followed a few seconds later and put his stuff in the trunk before climbing into the passenger seat.

 

Dean was driving in the direction of the witch's house, when he passed a drug store and a thought occurred to him. Clenching his jaw, he flipped a U-turn and pulled into the parking lot. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam give him a weird look, and he knew with his behaviour from earlier, coupled with going to a drug store now, he might as well have a friggin' neon sign over his head that said 'I'm on the rag!' in big, bold, red letters with an arrow pointing at him. Sam, wisely for his sake, didn't ask why they were here, or make any attempt to follow his brother into the store. He sat still in the car as Dean got out and headed in. Once he was inside, the hunter started scanning the isle signs for one in particular. There.

/“'Feminine Paper' oh fuck off. Like giving it a fancy name changed what it's was used for.”/

Grumbling, he practically stomped over to it.

Well, he had walked past the girls' section before, usually while he was getting condoms, but he'd never stopped to really look at it. Now he had to.  
The sheer amount of selection was ridiculous. What difference was there between all of them? And what the hell was /he/ supposed to get? There were pads, over night pads, pads with wings, none scented pads, pantie liners, hundreds of different tampons that all had different colours on the sides that were supposedly meant to tell him the absorbency, which was gross by the way, and half a dozen others. And what was with the frilly, colourful packaging? Who the fuck wanted rainbow pads? That just made them more noticeable. He knew he couldn't ask for help, and he wouldn't have anyways.

/“Come on,”/ He was a grown ass man. Sort of. He could figure this out. He would just have to do it in steps. The first thing to figure out would be if he should get pads or tampons. He had no experience with either, but all his past girlfriends had always seemed to use tampons. He'd always seen them in their bathrooms, or in their purses. Okay, so tampons then. But which kind? There had to be at least two dozen different ones to pick from. And it wasn't like he could just buy the cheapest ones. None of them were cheap.  
And wasn't that just stupid? That was like charging five bucks for a roll of toilet paper. Dean mussed that they would probably be free within a couple weeks if all women started to refuse to pay for them and just went without.  
Finally, he grabbed a box that said 'sport' on the front, figuring hunting, getting thrown around and killing things, was as active as any sport.  
Leaving the isle he hoped to never see again, he walked over to the counter.

/“Oh, great.”/

Of course the cashier on today was some teenage guy. The kid tried to make awkward small talk as he scanned the box, but Dean just ignored him and tucked his change into his pocket.  
Fuck, whenever he looked down to do anything his bangs fell into his face, and it was starting to piss him off.  
As he was leaving the counter, the little punk had the nerve to tell his to have a good day.

/“Oh fuck you, go stick your head in a microwave.”/ He thought angrily. /“Look at what I'm buying. Does it look like I'm gonna have a good day?”/

He shot the kid a glare as he left.

Before he was within eye shot of Sam, he tucked the bag behind his back, not wanting his brother to know what he'd bought.

/“As if he doesn't know.”/ An annoying little voice in the back of his head chimed in.

Grinding his teeth, Dean forced himself to walk to the car. Once he got to his side, he tucked the bag under the seat and slid in.

"You were in there for a while." Sam said casually.

"Yeah? Well when you're on the rag and have to figure out what the hell to buy, then you can complain." He snapped.

/“Shit.”/

He hadn't meant to say that. Why the fuck did he say that? Now Sam knew for sure what was going on, that was just fan-fucking-tastic. Now, not only was he having his period, but he had to go through it knowing that Sam knew and that just made it ten times worse.  
Chancing a glance at his brother, Dean saw that Sam was staring firmly out the front window. His eyes were a little wider, his right hand was balled up in a fist against his mouth, and- was the bastard smiling? He was. He was trying not to, but that smug grin of his was creeping onto his face. He coughed and looked out the passenger window to try to hide it, but it was too late. Dean had seen it.

 

About twenty minutes later, they were pulling up out front of the witch's house. Both of them were pretty sure she was long gone by now, but that didn't stop Dean from enthusiastically pulling out his gun once they were back inside. He practically charged into every room, ready to fire, and was clearly more than pissed at the empty house.  
Once they had established she was not there, they started to comb the house more thoroughly for clues as to where she might have gone.

Sam was busy looking through her stuff upstairs, when Dean became aware of the fact that the pad he'd put on earlier felt gross.  
Glancing in the direction of the stairs, he neither saw nor heard Sam. Coast was clear for now.  
Quietly as possible, he snuck out the front door and across the street to his car. Grabbing the bag from under the seat, he looked around outside to make sure no one saw him.  
He tore open the box, 'cause it would be easier to sneak a few tampons inside than the whole thing. He grabbed two or three, cause he had no idea what he was doing, and it was likely he would mess it up on the first go.  
Before shoving the thing back out of sight, he grabbed the little booklet that came with it and tucked it into his pocket with the supplies.  
Jogging back across the street to the house, he ducked back inside and closed the door quietly behind himself. He was pretty sure Sam didn't even know he'd been gone, which was good, because even if he knew what was happening to Dean now, he didn't need to /see/ Dean dealing with certain aspects of it.

Rather than walking down the hall back to the living room, he swung a right into the bathroom and locked the door behind him.  
God, he did /not/ want to do this. It wasn't like he hadn't seen his far share of blood, he'd beheaded, shot, stabbed, and in one case, sawn the head off of, enough monsters that blood was just a normal thing. Not only that, he'd patched up Sam, their dad, and himself thousands of times, it was second nature by now. As a hunter, there were worse thing you could get on yourself.  
But this...it was just different, damn it! He was not, nor would he ever be prepared for this. This was not in hunter 101.

He pulled his pants down and sat on the toilet.

/“Oh fuck!”/

That was just-that was...

/“It's fucking disgusting, that's what it is!”/

He'd changed bandages and wraps from deep gashes and bullet wounds that were in better condition than that pad. He couldn't imagine having to deal with this on a monthly basis. The annoying little voice in the back of his head chose that moment to point out that he might have to if they couldn't find the witch.  
Ignoring that thought, Dean focused on the task at hand, which wasn't any better, but at least it was something he could deal with.  
After getting rid of the used pad, he skimmed through the booklet he'd grabbed to try and figure out how the hell to use a tampon. He had a general idea of how they worked, it wasn't rocket science and there were enough commercials about them on TV, but he really didn't want to mess up.  
He was vaguely annoyed that this was the first way he'd get to try out his new parts. Or there lack of to be more accurate.  
Finally, he got the stupid wrapper open, and cringed at the noise it made. Jesus, the neighbors could probably hear that! Why the fuck was it so loud? Now that he though back on it, the pad had been even louder.

/“Wasn't this meant to be discreet?!”/

Grumbling, he tossed the wrapper into the bin next to the toilet, making a mental not to bury it in there before he left. Trying to remember the gist of what the booklet said, he lined up the tampon and slowly slid it in. It felt...really, really fucking weird. Everything about this was weird. It took a little longer than he'd expected, and it wasn't really comfortable by the time he was done, but eventually he had one in. He knew the book said to try again with a different one if it wasn't quite right, but he was just done dealing with this.  
Burying all evidence deep in the garbage can, even though the rational part of his brain told him this was a girl's house and no one would know that stuff was from him, he stood up and pulled his pants back up. He made sure to thoroughly wash his hands, really scrubbing them halfway up to his elbows just for good measure, cause that shit was nasty and the last thing he needed was to have other people see it on him. Then, before he left, he flushed and did a careful inspection of the room to make sure there was no evidence.  
Finally, /finally/, he escaped the bathroom. Just in time too, he could hear Sam coming down the stairs. Dean rushed into the living room and started going through the drawers on her TV stand, 'cause he totally hadn't just spent fifteen minutes in the bathroom trying to decipher feminine products.

"Find anything?" He asked once Sam was at the foot of the stairs. It pissed him off how high his voice went if he got louder.

"No mention of where she might go, or who she might stay with. Her room is clean."

Dean could hear the frustration in his brother's voice.

"Any luck on your end?" Sam asked.

Dean took a last minute glance into the drawer he'd opened. As he did, his bangs fell into his eyes again, irritating him.

He hadn't even had time to search anywhere down here, damn it.

"Notta." He finally answered. Sure, he'd barely looked around down here, but a witch as powerful as her wouldn't be sloppy enough to leave a trail or clues. It was a safe bet to guess it was clean down here too.

Sam /hmm'd/, looking around the room.

/“What? You think I didn't do my job properly, Sam?”/ He thought snarkily.

/“You didn't do your job at all.”/ Chimed in the voice in the back of his head.

Grinding his teeth, he forced himself not to snap at Sam. He wasn't doing anything differently than he usually did anyways, but it was annoying the hell out of Dean today.

"Okay. Well, I suggest we head back to that bar near the motel."

Sam nearly rolled his eyes, but stopped short. He wasn't saying he himself was the poster boy for 'sober and clean', but Dean was worse than he was when it came to alcohol dependency. He was just barely a functioning alcoholic, and most of the time he drank just because he could. Granted, going through the stuff they went through, no one could really blame him for needing it now and then, but if they started getting drunk, really drunk, every time things went south, they would be on a full time bender.  
Most of the time he managed to smoothly distract Dean or keep him busy enough that his brother didn't drink to the point of being totally inebriated, but tonight, after the past 24 hours and whatever the hell else Dean was dealing with now, (Sam had totally seen him grabbing tampons out of the car) he figured his brother deserved to get a little shit faced.

"Bar sounds good." Sam gave in. He wasn't going to act like he didn't need a drink too.

 

The bar, like all the ones they'd had the pleasure of frequenting over many years of drinking, was small, kinda dingy, and smelt like a combination of beer, sweat, and greasy food. The old wooden floor was scuffed and stained, the upholstery on the booth benches and bar stools were so ripped and faded now it was hard to tell what colour they had been originally. Cushioning poked through in some spots, adding to the overall look of the place.  
There was a kind of comfort in small bars all being so similar. Even if you'd never been to that one in particular, you felt like you had the second you walked in.  
As soon as they were inside, Dean spotted a free booth and sat down, claiming it before anyone else could.

"I'm gonna hit the head." Sam said, raising his voice over the hum of music and other people talking. Dean nodded and waved him off.

Not soon enough, a waitress came over to his table, and Dean forced himself not to hit on her, which was hard, 'cause she was really hot, and being charming and suggestive was well ingrained into his personality. He managed to order two double whiskeys, 'cause yeah, like Sam didn't need something stronger than beer too, without flirting with the waitress. He was almost proud of himself for holding back, but that thought slipped from his mind the second he caught himself checking her out as she walked away to get his order.  
Looking away quickly, he stared at the table top intensely, willing himself to stay calm, because on any other day he wouldn't have left the bar without either a girl's number, or the girl herself.

The waitress was back moments later with his drinks, and he knew when he said thanks, his smile was bordering on flirting. She, thankfully, either didn't notice, or acted like she didn't. When she walked away, Dean groaned and returned to watching the table, periodically sipping (gulping) his drink.  
He was so focused on the table, it really wasn't his fault he didn't notice the man approaching his booth until he was standing right beside him.  
Dean jumped half a mile and his inside hand reflexively reached for the gun tucked into the back of his pants when he finally clued in.

/“Dude, you're in a bar. Odds are if he was a monster, he would have waited for you outside. Besides, no one else knows it's you.”/

Stopping himself before it was too obvious he'd almost grabbed a gun, he rested his hand slowly back on the table. Not that killing something wouldn't go a long way towards making him feel better, but Sam might get pissy if Dean dropped a body here and now, and Dean was just too tired to deal with his brother's nagging and bitch faces.  
Dean gave the guy a quick once over, habit more than anything, to see if anything was obviously suspicious about him. He was around twenty five, with short blond hair that had just a bit too much product in it, brown eyes and a smile that just seemed off. Over a graphic t-shirt, he wore a crappy jacket that was meant to look like leather, but looked more like latex. His jeans weren't much better. Black, tight skinny jeans that unfortunately left nothing to the imagination.

/“Douchebag”/

"Sorry, didn't mean to startle ya." The man said, grinning a little. Dean wanted to punch that smug looking face, but he didn't. Mostly he tried to just ignore him, confused as to why he came over here at all. No, that was a good question. Why the fuck did some random guy come up to him like that? Who the hell was he?

"I'm Justin." He said, looking as if he was uncertain whether or not he should try to shake hands. Lucky for him he didn't, just kept his hands tucked into his pockets, 'cause Dean was right on the edge, and if any part of this guy got any closer to him, he'd rip it off with his bare hands and beat Justin with the soggy end of it.

"Good for you." Dean groused, making sure his voice was as rude and sarcastic as he could possibly make it, trying to make it clear just how much he didn't want to talk.

But of course, guys rarely pick up on stuff like that, or ignore it, so Justin just stood there, shifting his weight in a casual kind of way.

"You know, you are way too pretty to be drinking alone." Justin said after a little while.

/“What!? No, no no no, and more no.”/

There was no way in /hell/ he was being hit on by some strange guy right now.

"Excuse me?" He finally forced himself to say, mentally cursing himself for sounding so squeaky and shocked.

"Mind if I sit down?" The douchebag in the bad jacket asked, already moving to the available seat.

Dean finally regained some of his composure, and his attitude helped.

"Yeah actually, I do." The hunter said hotly, glaring at the man who had just tried to invite himself over.

"Oh, come on." The blond said in a honeyed voice, a smile growing on his face as he sat down anyway. "Why don't you let me buy you a drink?"

/“Are you fucking serious?”/

He was just the rudest, most uninterested bitch he could have been, and this guy was still trying? The fuck was wrong with him?  
As far as Dean could tell, he had three options at this point. He could rudely point out that there was another drink on the table, clearly for someone else, and was just waiting for them to get back. He could ineffectively continue to tell Justin to fuck off and leave him alone, and see if he could get it through the guy's thick skull that he wasn't interested. Or, he could just leave the bar and text Sam to meet him somewhere else.

Justin's unfortunate and grating voice broke his train of thought and pulled him back to the present.

"What's your name?"

/“Okay, that's it.”/

"Right, okay. Justin? Go piss up a rope and leave me alone."

Much to Dean's immense satisfaction, Justin actually looked taken aback for once, and a little at a loss for words. That stupid grin finally gone, he gaped for something to say. But he still wasn't moving or getting up.

/“You know what? Screw this.”/

Dean could wait for Sam somewhere else. Like outside. Or back at the motel. Just far away from this ass.

Dean got up and started to leave, when he felt someone grab his wrist.

/“Oh, now see that? That was a bad idea.”/

The hunter didn't even look at who it was first, already having a pretty good idea. With a quick twist and grab, he freed his own hand and had a hold on Justin's wrist. Turning around, he twisted his arm at the same time, forcing the blond to crouch a little and turn to keep his wrist from snapping. Now that he was turned, Dean completed the move by slamming the douchebag's head on the table and holding it there by his hair. Justin was effectively pinned. His one arm was twisted up behind his back, and Dean knew that from this angle if he pushed hard enough and twisted just a bit more, he could brake it. He toyed with the notion, not even noticing how quiet the bar had gone, and how pretty much everyone was watching him.

"Now that I have your attention," Dean said in a voice that betrayed his anger. "I want you to listen carefully. Take. A fucking. Hint." He growled.

Justin struggled a bit against being held in place, which pissed Dean off immediately. Twisting the arm in his grasp more, he pulled Justin's head up by his stupid hair, before slamming back down against the table with a satisfying /thud/. That at least seemed to get his point across, and the guy he was holding stopped moving.

"Hey, buddy! Why don't you take a walk?" Sam's annoyed voice cut through the silence, and made Dean aware that his brother had probably seen enough of that to know what was going on. Sam walked over to Dean, who still had Justin pinned.

As much as the older hunter knew he had the situation mostly under control, and was a little pissed Sam had stepped in, he also knew the presence of his moose of a brother was helping. Dean was a big guy, or he had been anyway (/fuck/), but Sam was bigger, and they had used that intimidation factor to their advantage before.  
He finally released the blond's arm and hair, stepping back and letting his hands curl into fists at his sides. He wouldn't start one, but he kind of wanted to fight because he was still fucking pissed, and he'd expected more of a struggle before. A quick, rough pin wasn't nearly as satisfying as laying someone out during a fight.

Justin pushed himself off the table, standing up and tripping a little as he took a few steps back. His hair was all messed up, and the side of his face was satisfyingly red from when  
Dean slammed it on the table. He at least look sheepish now, that smug grin long gone.

/“Good. Now fuck off.”/

Justin huffed and straightened his jacket.

"Fucking dyke." He muttered before walking out the door. The brothers' gaze followed him until he was gone, then Dean was the first to move as he sat down.

Fuck, he hadn't even had a chance to take a nice swig of his drink before that douche had shown up, and in the struggle, he'd hit the table hard enough to spill whatever was left in his glass. Sam's had sloshed out too. Dean was still pissy from the events of earlier, but he technically had started a fight in the bar, and he felt kinda bad about that. Grabbing the napkins from the holder on his table, he ignored the looks he was still getting from the other people in the bar, he mopped up the mess on the table as best he could, muttering curses under his breath as he did. He was only partially aware of Sam returning, he hadn't even been aware he'd left, with two new double whiskeys.  
Tossing the soggy napkins into the trash, he grabbed his drink from Sam and sat down at the both across from their old one. The silence in here was starting to piss him off, and he was glad when the bartender, his waitress from earlier, told everyone to go back to what they were doing.  
Dean was halfway through his first drink, and he could already tell it was going to be one of /those/ nights. Yeah, this was /definitely/ not going to be his only drink of the night.  
Sam was nursing his a bit more, which was good, 'cause Dean knew it was pretty damn likely he was gonna need to be dragged back to the motel, so one of them would need their wits about them.

Dean finished off his drink, well before Sam was even close to finishing his own, /wuss/, and went back to the bar for another. The same bartender from before was up there, and once again Dean tried not to check her out while she was helping the people at the other end of the counter. Damn it, was hard though, she was hot. Dark skinned with all the right curves in all the right places, Dean couldn't help but check out her ass when she bent to grab a bottle from the lower shelf.

/“Quit it! Wrong time, wrong...body.”/ He hissed at himself, tearing his gaze away. And fuck it all if that wasn't depressing.

"Hey."

The hunter looked back when he heard the bartender's voice.

"Hey." He said back, and fuck, before he could stop himself, he smiled at her warmly. The same way he knew he'd smiled at girls before when trying to pick them up. Looking away again, he forced himself to quit it before he could look at her again. Was she-? She was. Shit, she was /blushing/. And smiling back.

"You know, that was pretty impressive. What you did earlier, I mean."

She was still smiling at him, and damn if it wasn't impossible not to smile back.

"I've never seen any of the girls in here do that. They hardly even yell. You didn't even need your boyfriend to step in."

It took Dean a moment before he caught that last bit, and he saw the look on her face as she said it. She was watching him, like she was waiting for him to say something.

"What?" He said eloquently. "Who, Sam? Nah, he's my brother."

The bartender, her name tag said Martha, smiled a little brighter. She leaned against the counter casually in a way Dean was sure she knew showed off her boobs and the curve of her hips.

"And I could kick his ass any day." Dean added with a smile. He was only partially serious. As of right now, as a girl, he couldn't. It wasn't that he couldn't match him move for move, it was simply a matter of strength. Dean was smaller, even when he'd pinned Justin, he'd noticed it was a bit tougher than it normally would have been.

The bartender reached out her hand.

"I'm Martha, by the way."

Dean was taken off guard by that. He needed to introduce himself now, and who the fuck should he say he was? He couldn't use his real name. Should he make up a random one?

"Deanna." He finally said, settling on using his grandmother's name. He was named after her, anyway. He shook Martha's out stretched hand, she was still smiling at him when she let go.

"You the oldest?" She asked, referring back to earlier, and to Sam.

Dean nodded. "Yeah. Four years." He said fondly. "What about you? Any siblings?"

Martha nodded.

"A younger sister. She's off at Stanford for med school."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

"Oh yeah? Sammy went to Stanford. He was gonna be a lawyer."

Now it was Martha's turn to raise her eyebrows. From their looks and how they obviously knew how to handle themselves, she hadn't really guess either of them had been to college. They just seem more...physical. She couldn't imagine either of them sitting around and studying, or doing paper work at a desk.

Dean smirked.

"Yeah, Sam's the book worm." He said, that same fondness in his voice. Martha guess they were closer than most siblings.

"What about you? I get the feeling you would have been setting up all the parties at college."

Dean huffed out a laugh. It was true, if he had gone to college, he would have gone to every party, probably organizing up a few himself.

"Nah," He said, unable to stop smiling. It was just so damn easy to talk to her, and he was enjoying himself. "I didn't even finish high school."

He blushed a little. Not finishing high school had never really bothered him, he didn't need a certificate to know how to slice throats. Everything he needed to know had either been taught to him by his dad and Bobby, or learned on the job. And besides, he got his GED. So, no, he wasn't really self-conscious about it, but sometimes...it was kind of embarrassing. It didn't come up in conversations often, but when it did, it made him feel like people looked down on him, or thought he was stupid, even though he hadn't flunked out. Well, screw them, he knew more about what was really happening out there than they did, and he didn't need to know all that bullshit they taught in school to do his job.

"Me neither."

Dean looked back up at Martha, realizing his gaze had wandered to the counter. He must have looked surprised, 'cause she laughed a little and scoffed.

"What? I didn't flunk out or anything, I just quite going. I don't need a piece of paper to know how to pour drinks and wipe counters."

Dean smiled. From the sound of it, he guessed Martha was smart. Smart enough that she could have finished easily.

"So you always wanted to be a bartender?"

There was nothing but curiosity in his voice. Martha nodded.

"Yeah. I mean, my family has owned the bar for years, my grandpa was the one who opened it, and even when my dad was running it, I wanted to take over some day."

Dean nodded. He respected that, going into the family business. Of course, this was a much safer, more socially accepted family business than his.

"And what do you do?" Martha asked. "As one drop out to another?"

Dean grinned at that. It wasn't often that he found someone who could joke about not finishing. Yeah, Sam hadn't finished college, but Dean knew if his brother ever got that chance to get out and have a normal life, finishing school would probably be priority one for him.

"I went into the family business too." He said honestly.

"Oh yeah? And what business is that?"

/“And the truth stops here.”/

"Mechanic." Dean lied. It was an easy enough lie, it was what he and Sam had always told people growing up.

"Do you like it?"

Martha really seemed curious, and it was a nice change from the norm. Most girls lost interest if he tried to talk cars with them.

"Yeah, I do. My dad taught me everything I know working on his '67 Impala."

Martha perked up even more if that was possible.

"You have a '67 Impala?"

Dean nodded proudly.

"Yup. She's right outside."

Martha gaped, but then she went mock serious again.

"Colour?"

"Black."

"Four door or two?"

"Four."

"Hard top?"

"Yep."

Dean was really starting to like her. He could count on one hand how many girls he'd ever had a conversation with about cars like this, and still have a finger or two to spare.

"That's a hot car."

Dean's steadily growing grin turned into a full on smile, any thoughts about making sure he didn't come onto her were long gone.  
He suddenly realize he'd been up here the whole time, just talking, when he'd actually came up for more booze. Martha seemed to notice too, shaking her head a little, she straightened back up.

"So...uh. What can I get for you? I'm guessing you didn't just come up here to talk to me."

Dean grinned.

"No, but it's certainly a perk." He said it before he could stop himself.

/“Shit!”/

He hadn't meant to start flirting. What the fuck? Was it that ingrained into him that stuff like that just fell out?  
Not that Martha seemed to mind. She blushed, sure, but she was still smiling at him. Dean suddenly decided against getting shit faced tonight. He was already in a better mood, and just kind of wanted to sleep.

"I'll take a whiskey and the check, please."

/"Stop fucking grinning!"/ His mind spat at him. /"You are not trying to pick her up!"/

Martha turned to get the check, and once again, Dean's gaze was drawn to her ass.  
Martha handed him the folded paper and his drink.

"This one's on me." She said with a smile that was more than just friendly. Dean grinned back.

"Thanks."

He felt like he should say something else, but he didn't know what. Any variation of 'goodbye' sounded stupid, and he wasn't gonna say 'see you around' or anything like that, because he probably wouldn't.  
Martha solved the problem for him when she had to deal with some customers at the other end of the counter, therefor leaving him free to go. Grabbing the check and his drink, he went back over to his and Sam's booth.

Sitting down, he noticed something on the paper he hadn't before. Numbers. Did she-?  
She totally did. She gave him her number. In blue ink at the bottom of the charges, seven little numbers were written down, under the name 'Martha'.

Dean felt an odd sense of pride that he could have picked up that girl just now.

"Sammy, it seems that no matter what, I am irresistible to the ladies." He gloated, holding the check out for his brother to see.  
Sam nearly chocked before grabbing the check out of his smug brother's outstretched hand.

"Are you serious?"

Dean just grinned.

"Apparently the bartender is into me."

Sam turned around in his booth so he could get a look at the girl who'd just given his brother/sister her number.

"You gonna call her?" Sam teased, with an undertone of curiosity. He wouldn't put it past Dean to actually do it.

"Shut up." Dean answered, not really meaning it.

It did pose an interesting idea though. Not that he was gonna go through with it while he was on a hunt and on the rag, but still. He wasn't gonna lie, it wasn't like the thought hadn't crossed his mind, he was curious as to what it would feel like as a girl to...do stuff, and had the circumstances been different, he might have gone for it. But it had been a long day, he was tired, and the pain killers were wearing off.

Sighing, he grabbed his wallet and pulled out a twenty. The bill was only around thirteen bucks, but she hadn't kicked them out after the fight, and Dean felt kinda bad about accidentally leading her on, so he tipped a little on the big side.  
Sam noticed, raising his eye brows and giving his brother a pointed look, which Dean pointedly ignored. Screw Sam. If Dean wanted to tip that much, he fucking would.  
His moose of a brother swallowed the last of his drink and set the glass down next to Dean's empty one. He shrugged on his jacket and threw the bartender another look.

"So, should I get another room?" He joked.

"Blow it out your ass, Sam." Dean countered, his tone light.

Sam just smiled and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"You good to drive?" He asked. He knew his brother had worked up quite the impressive tolerance for booze, one that would trump that of most alcoholics just into rehab. Honestly, Dean probably could have had another double whiskey and still been good.

"Yeah." Dean said, shrugging on his own jacket. He'd bought a few sets of clothes and a pair of shoes for now, but he refused to part with his red leather jacket. Besides, it didn't fit that bad, and he wanted something familiar.

Dean caught Martha's eye one more time before he followed Sam out. They smiled at each other, and Dean gave a little wave. And maybe, he revved the engine louder than need be, and drove past the glass doors slower, giving anyone inside who wanted to check it out a good look at his baby.

 

Back at the motel, Dean collapsed on his bed. He didn't know why he was so /tired/, he hadn't fucking /done/ anything today, but he felt like he'd been hit by a friggin' steam engine. Rolling onto his back, he sighed as he once again remembered it was hard to get comfy lying down.  
He was pretty sure he could have gone to sleep like this, fully dressed and on top of the blankets, and he almost did, when he felt that same pain in his lower back again, and it was starting up in his stomach too. Grumbling, he realized he actually had /stuff/ he needed to take care of before he fell asleep.

/“Shit.”/

And he'd been comfy too. Groaning, he sat back up and rubbed his face tiredly.

"I'm gonna take a shower." He told Sam as he stood up. His brother was over by the other bed, rummaging through his bag. He hummed his acknowledgement without turning away from whatever he was doing.  
Grabbing his own bag with his clothes and /supplies/ in it, Dean headed to the bathroom.  
He decided before he got in the shower, he would change the tampon he'd used. It had only been in for five hours, but he wanted to put in a fresh one (gross) before he went to sleep.  
Sitting down on the toilet the same way he had before when he put it in, he grabbed the sting and pulled-

/“FUCK!”/

Holy fucking shit did that hurt! He hadn't really expected it to feel any different than when he'd put it in. Taking a deep breathe, he forced himself to relax those muscles, and he carefully resumed pulling, much more gently this time. It still hurt, and he hissed through clenched teeth as he made himself pull it out anyway. It was agonizingly slow going, but eventually he reached a point where he could feel his own body pushing against it as well. Finally, it slid out, and he let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Jesus, that was awful. Looking at the cause in his hand, he saw it was still pretty dry, and he remembered the booklet saying something about being careful not to pull it out too early. Well, that would have been nice to remember earlier! Anyway, it was out now, and he threw it away and flushed the toilet, hiding all evidence.  
Dean hadn't realized how gross he felt until he was in the shower. The first and most noticeable thing was the brownish-orange water running down the drain as he scrubbed himself clean with soap. That was gross. After washing and rinsing the rest of himself, he stepped out of the shower and started to towel himself dry. He was leery of using a tampon again, but the other option was a pad, and he remembered from earlier how gross that felt. Drying off his legs, he tossed the used towel onto the floor and grabbed a new tampon from his bag. As he sat down on the toilet, he noticed something on the towel he hadn't before. Frowning, he picked it up and nearly dropped it again in surprise.

/“Holy fuck!”/

What the hell? He'd been out of the shower for all of thirty seconds /max/, and the once white towel was now stained with red blotches.  
Deciding he would deal with it later, he dropped it back to the ground and went back to the task at hand.

/“Alright, we can do this.”/

He got the tampon in better this time. It still wasn't totally comfortable, but it was less noticeable than last time. Once again, he hid all the evidence deep in the garbage can, buried underneath toilet paper and the towel from earlier, folded in a way so that the stains were hidden. Once he was satisfied with the clean up, he grabbed a fresh towel to dry his hair, because it was wet and dripping into his eyes and sticking to his face and really starting to piss him off.  
Normally, he would have just slept in his boxers and a t-shirt, but now, with Sam in the room, it just felt...weird. Plus, his shorts just felt uncomfortable without anything to...hold up. He put on an older shirt, one he practically swam in now, and a pair of sweats he decided he could just kick off once he was under the blankets.  
Padding back into the main room, he dumped his bag on the floor, and saw that Sam was already in his own bed, snoring away.

/“Lazy ass.”/

Crawling under his own sheets, Dean managed to kick off his sweats and drop them on the floor with a soft /whump/. That felt much better. Dean reached across the night stand to turn of his lamp, the only light left in the room. With a click, the room was consumed in darkness.

 

The next morning, Dean was the first one up. He slowly became aware of the fact that he desperately needed to pee, and that it was probably his painfully full bladder that had woken him up.  
Sitting up in his bed, he let his sleep blurry eyes adjust and focus in the morning light that insisted on shinning through the curtains. He glanced over at the bed beside his, and saw his brother sprawled out and still fast asleep.  
Dean guessed it was probably around eight thirty in the morning, and wished he could sleep longer. It wasn't like he couldn't function on four or five hours, napping here and there when he got the chance, but he remembered the few rare nights where he'd managed to get in seven or even eight hours straight, and not much could beat that in his book.

/“No point in complaining, you're up now.”/

Grumbling a little, Dean threw back the covers and grabbed his sweats from last night. Once we was dressed, he padded over to the bathroom with his bag.  
A quick shower and change later, and Dean felt much better. He was leery of taking out the tampon he'd put in last night, but apparently if he didn't he was in danger of getting toxic shock or some shit. And what the hell was up with that? He was just trying to get through an internal organ shedding itself, and now he had to worry about seizures? That was bull.  
As he was walking out of the bathroom, he felt the familiar ache in his back and stomach starting up again, but it wasn't nearly as bad as before. As long as it stayed like this, he could deal with it without pain killers.

Sam was awake by now, sitting on the edge of his bed and rubbing his eyes tiredly.

"Hey," He greeted with a yawn.

"Hey," Dean said back.

"How you feeling?"

/“Oh, fuck you.”/ Dean clenched his teeth to avoid saying something along those lines, and instead turned to drop his duffel on his own bed.

"Better, I guess." He allowed stiffly. "Getting used to it."

He shrugged. He wasn't getting used to it. Everything about it was still weird, and he didn't like it. He didn't like wearing a bra, cause it wasn't comfortable and he had to adjust his boobs every few minutes, least they fall out the bottom. He didn't like how his new clothes felt tight and restricting. He didn't like how he was on the rag and had no idea how to deal with it or what to expect. He didn't like how all of this got in the way of him getting laid last night.

/“Wow. That was...what the hell was that?”/

At the idea of getting some action, he'd felt a sharp, hot spike flash through his stomach before it traveled down. It simmered down to an easy, low heat in his gut that certainly wasn't unpleasant. In fact, it felt pretty good. But it was frustrating too. Because he knew what that was, he knew what it meant, and he had no idea how to deal with it. Was he just supposed to go around all day like this? It wasn't like when he got horny as a guy, 'cause then his dick would just make a very obvious guest appearance, and he /had/ to do something about it. But as a girl, no one would really be able to tell. And it would go away eventually, right? Besides, with Sam in the room, it wasn't like he could try and... take care of it or anything.

"That's good."

Sam's voice interrupted Dean's train of thought, and pulled him back to what was happening in the room.

"I'm gonna take a quick shower, then we can head out. Start talking to the witch's friends, try and find out where she is?"

/“A/ quick /shower. Damn.”/

"Uh, yeah. I'll pack the trunk."

 

Well, the whole day was turning out to be a bust. After Sam's shower, they had been all ready to suit up and pull their usual FBI shtick, when Sam had gone and pointed out that they didn't have a fake ID for Dean, so they ended up having to go as concerned cousins instead. Dean hated acting like family, it was a tough act to pull off, 'cause he had to watch what he said, least he slip up and give them away, and he had to make sure he acted like he knew all about the person in question.  
Not only that, but they lost their intimidation factor. People would tell all to agents of the country when you casually let it slip that withholding evidence could land them in a slammer, but you show up as family? Any and all secrets ever shared by the person in question are kept secret. For all they knew, every person they talked to today knew exactly where Tracy was, but wouldn't tell because they were told to keep it secret.

So, after questioning several of her co-workers at the office she'd been working at, and a few of her neighbors who insisted that they knew her well, they still came up with jack and a side of squat. No one had the slightest inkling as to where she had gone, one of her next door neighbors hadn't even been aware the girl was missing until they'd told her.  
So, overall, it was a shit day so far, and they found nothing on where Tracy might be hiding out. Not only was it a shit day because of that, but several of the friends were really hot women, and Dean kept feeling that familiar heat in his gut.

/“Fuck.”/

Was he ever fucking hard up...sort of. He /needed/ to get off, and soon. This was just ridiculous, how the fuck could girls stay horny all day like that? Sure, there were times when as a guy he'd get a little blue balled, and when talking to some of the hotter friends or coworkers or roommates, yeah, he's feel it flare up a little more than normal, but then it always went away a few minutes after he convinced himself he wasn't getting any. But now? Nope. No, now it was all day, unwavering, horniness, and it was pissing him off. How the hell was he supposed to get anything done?

They still had one lead they could try. Olivia's roommate.

 

"How many of those have you taken?" Sam asked, gesturing towards the bottle in Dean's hand as his brother dumped out more pain killers.

"Not enough." Dean answered grumpily, downing the pills with a shot from his flask. He just wanted the pain to fucking /stop/. It felt like his lower back needed to crack, while at the same time he was getting stabbed and kicked in the gut. He clenched the flask a little tighter when a fresh wave of pain nearly made him double over.  
God, his head was pounding. The only time he got headaches this bad was after a night of heavier than usual drinking, or when he pulled a few all-nighters in a row working a job. He definitely had to give women more credit now, especially the hunters. How the hell did they even get out of bed, let alone go out and do the job?  
Groaning a little, he shifted in his seat again and tried to get comfortable. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Sam shooting him little worried looks from the driver's seat.

"Why the fuck are we just sitting here?" Dean asked curtly. Maybe if he could get up and move around it would help, just sitting in the Impala was kind of pissing him off.  
Luckily, Sam was smart enough to just go along with whatever his brother wanted right now. He dropped the pills subject.

"Her roommate isn't home yet, we're waiting here for her to show up."

Dean just grunted in reply, shifting in his seat again. Fuck, this just- this fucking sucked. Was he going to have one day during this thing when he wasn't either pissed off, in pain, or horny? And, according to everything he knew about this stuff, he still had about three more days of this shit after today.

Thankfully, it was only a few more minutes until Janet showed up, otherwise Dean was pretty sure he might have done something rash, like pick a fight with the closest stranger, or start really chugging the whiskey from his flask.  
As soon as the car was in the driveway, Dean hopped out of his Impala, leaving Sam who was sorting through some folders.  
As he walked across the street, he didn't even notice the group of about three or four guys standing nearby, at least, not until one of them whistled at him.

"Damn, girl. You swallow?"

Dean turned a slightly incredulous look to the douche in the backwards hat with a cigaret dangling out of his mouth, the one he was pretty sure had said that. Him and the rest of his buddies were practically leering at Dean, clearly checking him out as they began to casually wander over.

"Yeah, why don't you bring that sweet little ass of yours over here?"

Dean froze on the spot, clenching his jaw and fists. Part of him wanted to walk right up to them and systematically beat the ever living shit out of each one, and the other part told him to run back to his car and lock the doors.  
When that douche-bag Justin had hit on him in the bar, he'd just been annoyed. It had already been a very, /very/ long day, and he'd just wanted to drink with his brother in peace. He'd been surrounded by other people, and one on one if it escalated to something physical. Now, he was pretty much alone, against four big guys, he knew if they tried something, he wouldn't be able to fight them all off. In this body, he couldn't have been more than a hundred and thirty pounds soaking wet.

"I'll bet she goes all the way." One of them said to another.

Dean hesitated and tensed up more, knowing he would have to walk past them to get to Janet's house, but they were already fairly close, and still walking towards him. He was embarrassed to admit that he relaxed quite a bit when Sam caught up to him. His moose of a brother stood near him in an annoyingly protective way, especially for being the younger of the two. Dean could tell his brother stood up as tall as he six foot five inch frame allowed, and maybe even puffed out his chest a bit as he glared at the group on the sidewalk. They eyed Sam up and down once, and the Winchesters both heard one guy mumble something, shortly before the group turned and left. And wasn't that just fucking awful? That they took competition more seriously than a girl's obvious discomfort?

Once they were further away, Sam quite posturing and relaxed, turning worried eyes on his brother.

"You okay?" He asked, his voice soft.

Dean snapped out of his little trance, taking in an only slightly shaky breath to steady himself.

"What? Yeah. Yeah, of course. I'm fine."

Sam didn't buy it for one second, but he let it slide. He'd seen Dean's nervousness and hesitation, it was the reason he'd hurried over so quickly. He was pretty sure being objectified like that was a new experience for his brother. Sure, girls and the occasional guy checked him out and hit on him plenty before, but Dean had never had any reason to feel unsafe because of it.

"Come on, lets go." Dean said, already moving toward Janet's house impatiently.

 

Just to add on to their already unproductive day, Olivia's roommate, of course, had never even met Tracy, and didn't have any idea where she might have gone. Not only that, but Janet was in very good shape, and she couldn't have been a day over twenty-five. Dean had felt the heat in his stomach return full force after only a few minutes of talking to her, and it hadn't died down at all the whole ride back to the motel.

So, they got back to the motel, and Dean, pissy mood back in full swing, grumpily flopped down face first onto his bed, leaving Sam to close the door behind him.

"Dean?"

Dean groaned in response, the sound muffled by the bed and sheets. He wasn't quite sure what he meant by that noise, but it was gonna have to be good enough for Sam.

"You hungry?"

Dean /hmmed/. Actually, he was starving. They had eaten earlier today before they'd headed out, and Dean knew from experience that he could go days without anything other than water before he got truly desperate and stole something, but none of that seemed to matter now. Right now, he wanted food, and lots of it.

"I saw a burger place on the other side of town when we were coming in. I'll be back in about forty minutes."

/“What?”/

Finally rolling onto his side and raising up a bit, Dean looked at his brother, his bangs falling over his eyes again. A quick shake to the side and they swooped back into place.  
He almost told him not to waste the gas, 'cause there was a perfectly fine diner not five blocks away, but he held his tongue. There was a lot he could do in forty minutes, including that one thing he'd desperately needed to do since this morning.

"Yeah. Okay."

Sam grabbed the keys to the Impala off the table, and was halfway out the door before he turned.

"Your usual?" he asked, and Dean swore he could hear some condescending disapproval in there. Well, fuck him. Dean would eat whatever he damn well pleased, damn the consequences. It wasn't like he expected to live long enough to suffer liver failure or heart problems anyways.

"No, actually. Um...I'd get a bacon cheeseburger, large chili cheese fries, and a chocolate milkshake."

/“Yeah, that sounded perfect right about now.”/

Sam's eyebrows rose until his own bangs nearly covered them. Dean wouldn't have been able to pack all that in before, when he was a guy. How the hell did he think he was gonna eat all that now?  
Sam opened his mouth to say something, but then thought better of it and just nodded, closing the door behind him.

Dean waited until he heard the rumble of his baby pull away, then, he rolled onto his back and flopped around until he was resting comfortably, his head on the pillows and his knees drawn up. Reaching down eagerly, he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled the zipper down after them, lifting his hips enough to push his jeans down a little further. He didn't really need to, but it gave him more room to do his thing. Fuck, he needed this.

 

Thirty minutes later, Dean was completely and totally relaxed as he lay sprawled out on the bed, trying to catch his breath. His eyes refused to open, and he didn't really care at the moment.  
That was... He still wasn't quite sure what to make of it. He hadn't really known what to expect, and the only knowledge he'd had of what the fuck to do had been purely from his experience with women.  
Even once he figured out the gist of how everything worked in the indoor plumbing department and what felt good, it had still taken him longer than he'd expected to finish.  
He'd been stuck painfully close to the edge for what felt like ten minutes, and had been close to giving up and just taking a cold shower, when he'd figured out the trick with his wrist which had /finally/ given him the push he'd needed to finish.  
Now all that tension that had been there all day, slowly building, was gone, and he felt /good/. It felt a bit like being high, only not as intense. He made a vague mental note to keep some of the stuff he'd figured out in mind for future reference, whether it be for himself, or someone else.

Suddenly, he remembered that Sam would be back soon. Forcing himself to sit up, he groggily wandered into the bathroom, holding up his pants, his whole body loose with post-orgasmic relaxation. He felt almost lightheaded, but in a good way.  
After cleaning himself up and washing his hands, he took a quick look in the mirror to make sure he looked normal before Sam got back. His face was flushed, and his hair was a mess, but he managed to fix it with a little water and his fingers, flattening it back to the way it usually was. He came out of the bathroom right as he heard the outside door opening.

/“Shit, he'd cut it close.”/

Sam walked in, setting the bags of food down on the table, along with the keys.

"Hey." he said to Dean, as his brother came further into the main room. "I got you your burger, fries, and milkshake." He continued, pulling each item out of the bag and setting it on the table as he listed them off. Dean smiled when he saw the food, and felt even hungrier than before

"Thanks." He managed.

Sam just nodded and sat down, pulling out a salad for himself.

/“Gross.”/

Dean sat down opposite his brother, pulling his burger closer. He sagged down into his chair, relaxed and a little numb.  
Sam dug into his own food. Once he'd had figured out that a huge part of the reason Dean was so pissy was because he was hard up, an idea had formed in his head, a way to give Dean some time alone without being obvious about it. Of course, now his brother had to go around with that /look/ on his face that made it painfully obvious he'd gotten off anyway. Sam just decided to ignore his brother for the time being.

 

Twenty five minutes later, Dean had amazed Sam by finishing not only his burger and fries, but also his entire large chocolate milkshake. It was pretty impressive, and Dean was  
proud of it, if his little smirk was anything to go on.  
Now that he was full, still on an endorphin high, and relaxed, Dean just barely managed to crawl under his sheets, kicking off his jeans and tossing them onto the floor.

"You going to sleep?" Sam asked, a little surprised. It was only nine o'clock.

"Yep." Dean mumbled back. "Screw consciousness, that's what I say."

Sam huffed a weak laugh, but Dean was already half asleep, exhausted from the frustrating day and his earlier exploits, plus feeling pleasantly full. Sam just left him alone to sleep, his brother was having a really tough week.

 

"Anything?" Dean asked for what felt like the hundredth time in the last two days.

It has been just over a week since Dean had undergone his gender swap, and they still had yet to find the witch responsible. Sam shook his head.

"Dude, I'm not even totally sure what I should be looking for."

He clicked out of his latest browser page, still having found nothing in the news even vaguely witchy.  
Dean sighed explosively, letting his head fall and his bangs swoop out again. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he fought against the headache threatening to get worse.

They'd been spinning their wheels and sitting around hoping for a breakthrough for seven days now, still to no avail. Tracy was keeping an impossibly low profile, and they had absolutely no idea where she might have gone. Someone like her was bound to have safe houses everywhere.

"I'm gonna call Bobby." Dean mumbled, grabbing his phone off the bed.

He'd finally cracked a few days ago and told Sam to call Bobby and give him the skinny on their situation. As expected, they were met with shock and some mocking, but at this point, Dean didn't care. Bobby had demanded Sam send him a picture of his new sister in exchange for his help in tracking down the witch. He received a pleasant picture of Dean flipping him the bird, but ignored that bit and told Sam he would start looking, tell all his feelers to keep their eyes open, and to call if they noticed anything.

That had been three days ago, and so far, they hadn't heard a thing back from the older hunter. Dean flipped open his phone and easily found Bobby in his contacts.

After a brief conversation, and some further ridicule on Bobby's side, the brothers found out that Bobby's search was coming up as empty as their own. No obviously witch signs, no sightings, nothing.  
Dean thanked him for looking, reminded him once again to call if he found anything, then hung up with a frustrated sigh.

"Anything?" Sam asked.

Dean shook his head.

"Jack with a side of squat. He's having about as much luck as we are."

Sam's gaze shifted from curious to concerned. He hadn't been able to get a good read on Dean lately, and he was wondering how his brother was coping. It had been over nine days now, and he wondered if Dean was adjusting or not. After all, if they couldn't find the witch soon, they would have to start going on regular hunts again, periodically searching for her. It was possible Dean might be stuck like this for a while longer.  
Dean brushed his bangs out of his eyes, running his fingers through his hair. It was longer than it had been when he was a guy, cut in a different style, with bangs that swooped to the side, nearly long enough to tuck behind his ear.  
As he tossed his phone onto his bed, he felt a small clenching pain in his gut, similar to cramps, but not nearly as bad. By now he could ignore those.

The first time it had happened, he'd panicked, because his period had ended a few days before, and no way in hell was he gonna put up with it starting up again that soon, he'd sooner eat a bullet. So, after a panicked search on Sam's laptop, he managed to find out that it was actually normal, and most of the time it just meant he was... ovulating. Weird.  
It was a kind of scary thought, the first time it hit him. He could get actually knocked up. It wasn't like he was planning on sleeping with some dude or anything, but still.

"You should call Cas."

Sam's voice pulled Dean back to the present, and he shook himself out of his little reverie.

"Don't you think if he'd found anything he would've popped in to say so?"

Sam shrugged.

"Uh...maybe, I guess. But the guy is pretty busy, maybe he found something and just didn't have time to stop in and tell us."

Dean sighed but closed his eyes and let his head fall forward slightly.

"Dear Castiel, we'd like to know if you found a way to poof my junk back, so could ya... zap in? Do you copy, Houston?"

A sudden gust of wind and a loud flap signalled the arrival of the angel only seconds before he appeared in the room.

"My name is not Houston." He said, his voice gravely and monotone as always.

"Well hello to you too, Cas." Dean snarked back.

Sam managed to stifle an eye roll at the two, just watching as they stared at each other for what was quickly becoming too long. Finally, it was becoming awkward for the younger brother, and he cleared his throat to draw attention back to the situation.  
Dean looked away first as always, being the only one out of him and Cas who understood what Sam was doing. Castiel thankfully followed suit soon after.

"I heard your prayer. As it so happens, I do have some information for you that may be relevant."

Dean perked up a bit.

"Great. What is it?"

Castiel slowly turned and began wandering around the motel room.

"One of my subordinates informed me that a close friend of the witch you are hunting has just returned from Italy. She may know where to find her."

Dean seemed to consider it. It was still the only lead they'd had in a week, so he would take it.

"Great. Where can we find her?"

 

Alex Macaut had worked in the same job, in the same cubicle, with the same people for years now, and she had grudgingly admitted to herself that there was never going to be any real excitement at the office. There was, of course, a few coworkers she got along better with than others, and they exchange pleasantries every morning and before they left for the day, but other then that, she didn't really socialize here. She only talked to the people she worked with directly if she needed to, and she didn't like her job, so she was sure she wasn't all that pleasant to be around.  
That being said, she was surprised when suddenly a man and woman in suits and brandishing FBI badges approached her at work the day she got back from Italy. They asked to talk to her in private, and as she lead them to the nearest meeting room, she tried to remember if she had done anything so bad recently that would warrant the FBI investigating her.

By the time they made it to a room off to the side of the cubicles, she was sweating bullets. They asked her to take a seat, and she finally cracked under the stress.

"Look, if this is about the roaches boarder security found in my purse, I have a prescription-"

"We don't care about that." Dean cut her off.

"Look, just relax, okay." Sam said calmly. "We aren't investigating you. You're not in any trouble."

Alex sighed and her shoulders dropped.

"Then why are you here?"

Sam was sitting down across from her, while Dean stood near the door, leaning his shoulder against the wall and observing.

"We're here to ask you about your friend. Tracy Thompson?"

Alex looked over to the one who had introduced herself as Deanna, the one who had just spoken.

"Trace? What about her? Did something happen."

Sam took the lead this time. He knew it was too close to home, and Dean would let emotion come through in his answer.

"Well, we don't know. She's been missing for ten days now."

"Oh my god." Alex gasped and covered her mouth, looking for all the world like she might start crying. "She was kidnapped?"

Sam shook his head.

"No, no we're pretty sure she wasn't. We think she's in hiding though."

Alex frowned at him, at least a little calmer now.

"Hiding? Why?"

"We don't know." Dean interrupted.

/“This is taking too long.”/

"We'd like to ask her that ourselves. Do you have any idea where she might have gone?"

The office worker paused to think.

"Uh... Her, um, her cabin, I guess."

"Her cabin?" Sam asked.

Alex nodded.

"Yeah, a cottage way up in Montana. It's like a two day drive from here."

After getting directions to the cabin, they headed back to the motel for the night. Like Alex said, it was days away, and by now it was already getting late.

 

The next morning, they were on the road by eight. Dean, ignoring the speed limits as always, opened the Impala up and cruised down the highway, passing cars and semis the whole time. Sam was used to it, and he'd known Dean would be eager to find the witch who'd cursed him and put a bullet or two in her.

By the time it was dark out, both brothers were pretty tired from a full day of driving. Dean pulled into the first no-tell motel he saw and told Sam to check them in without him. He needed a drink.  
He'd mistakenly packed his flask in his duffel bag before they left, so he'd been painfully fully booze free all day, and he could feel the beginning of what would develop into something similar to DTs starting. He was a little shaky, and craving something strong, so after dropping Sam of with a fake credit card that should still be good, he drove to the bar he'd spotted on the way in.

 

Normally, he sat in a both, or a table at the back of the room when he wanted to drink alone, less chance of being bothered or noticed if he found a dark corner to occupy, but not tonight. Tonight he seated himself right up at the bar, ordering a double whiskey immediately. As soon as he got it, he took a few long pulls off of it, loving the burn as it ran down his throat and heated his chest.  
When he wasn't drinking just to get drunk, he usually sipped slowly and took about twenty minutes to finish a double like this. It was better whiskey than the crap he and Bobby kept around. Not tonight though. Tonight, he finished his drink in seven minutes flat. The shaking in his legs and arms was gone by now, and he could go back to the motel if he wanted to. He was fine to drive, one drink couldn't even give him a buzz, not after his impressive last few years of heavy drinking.

He was about to get up and leave, when the bartender set another whiskey down in front of him. It wasn't a double this time, but Dean was sure he hadn't ordered himself one for the road.

"From the gentleman over there." The bartender told him, gesturing to a man sitting at the other end of the bar. He flash a smile and a wave at Dean, which went ignored by the hunter. He pushed the drink back towards the bartender.

"Well, why don't you send it right back to him?"

The bartender smirked and did as he was asked, Dean didn't bother watching for the other man's reaction. He stood up and was shrugging on his jacket when he heard someone walk up behind him.

/“Oh this is fan-fucking-tastic. Another guy who can't take a fucking hint.”/

"You know, it's a little rude to send a drink back without talking to the person who sent it to you." He said softly. There was a hint of teasing in his voice, and a gentle smile on his face. 

Dean was a little shocked when he noticed the guy was looking at /him/, not checking him out or standing too close like so many guys try to do.

"Look pal, I've a had a really tough, /really/ strange week, and I was just here for a quick drink in peace."

Dean watched the other man take a step back and hold up his hands as if in surrender.

"Okay, fair enough. I'm sorry for bothering you."

And he just...walked away. Just like that.

/“That was.... Huh.”/

That was actually a really nice change from how guys had been treating him lately. Dean left the bar with an odd little smile on his face.

 

The next day, him and Sam were back on the road early again. It was a painfully boring drive, as Dean insisted on reminding Sam every time they pass yet another ranch or farm. There wasn't much for scenery in this part of Montana, at least, nothing they hadn't seen half a dozen times before. At least they found the cottage by ten that night.

Dean, of course, wanted to run in guns blazing and demand she change him back, but Sam, ever thoughtful and strategical, barely managed to convince his brother/sister to wait.

"Why? She might be in there right now! We could wrap this up tonight!"

"Dude, last time we tried to get her at night, she got away and it took us almost two weeks to get a decent lead on where she /might/ be."

"So?"

"So, if she makes a run for it at night, in the dark, in territory she's familiar with, there's no way we're gonna find her." Sam sounded exasperated. "We wait until tomorrow, when it's light out and we have more of a chance of getting her."

Dean grudgingly accepted. Sam could tell he was pissy, but if the witch really was in there, they couldn't afford to mess this up.

 

"You got the lock pick?" Dean whispered to his brother. Sam nodded, quietly pulling it out of his jacket pocket.

It was still pretty early, the sun had only come up an hour ago, but that hardly mattered. It was rare they waited to go in after something they were hunting, but Dean had agreed, finally, that it was a good idea this time. Still, that hadn't kept him from firmly insisting that they scope out the place over night.  
Dean had taken the first watch, and when Sam had woken up around around two, he'd forced his brother to get in a few hours, convincing him he'd need to be alert tomorrow.

So, now, here they were, picking the lock on the cabin door and slowly creeping in. They already knew /someone/ was here, the chimney had been going when they got here yesterday.  
As they rounded the corner into the narrow hall way, guns raised, they could hear the steady crackling of the fireplace, accompanied by soft humming. Dean took the lead, tiptoeing toward the noise. He froze when the board under his foot creaked, cursing himself when the humming stopped. Waiting, the brothers listened.  
After a moment or two, the humming resumed and the hunters relaxed a little, then continued to slowly move towards the main room, Sam careful to avoid the board Dean had hit, tested the floor for a quiet spot to step.

Once in the main room, they could see someone they were sure was Tracy sitting on the couch. She had her back to them, her head bowed slightly as she engrossed herself in a book. She raised her head when the brothers were fully in the room and side by side, guns raised at the ready.

"Boys," she drawled.

Sam and Dean shot each other a confused glance.

"Or should I say boy?" Tracy asked, standing up and turning to face the Winchesters. "Hello, Dean. Looking good, you lost some weight."

"Among other things." Dean snarled back. The witch smirked.

"Yes. How have you been enjoying your stint as a woman? Have you had your monthly visitor yet?" Her tone was so condescending Dean nearly shot her just on principle, but he managed to hold back. She couldn't reverse this stupid curse if she was dead.

"Why'd you do it?" Sam asked. That's what he'd been trying to figure out this whole time. Almost always when a witch put a curse on someone, it was a punishment of some kind, to teach them a lesson. But what was Dean supposed to get from this? He was never insulting or rude to women, did she think he underestimated them?

Tracy huffed a laugh.

"'Cause it was fun. You have any idea how boring it gets, using the same hexes and mild witchcraft for nine hundred years? I just wanted to bring out some of the old favourites."

"So that's all this was? Some sick little practical joke for you to get off on?" Dean snarled.

Tracy turned a defiant glare on him.

"Yes."

Dean click the safety on his gun off. The witch rolled her eyes and merely started meandering towards him.

"But now... you've settled into your new gender role. More or less anyways. I can't get the same amusement out of knowing you are getting by fine."

Dean was itching to just pull the trigger. He didn't even care if she lived, it would still feel good.

"So now what?"

"Now... I change you back, and you two leave quickly, before I decide I would rather bleed you in the shed out back. And you don't bother me again."

Before either brother could agree or refuse, Tracy placed her hand on Dean's head, quickly muttering a reverse Latin incantation. Dean felt the same tingly, burning pain start up in his body, it only took a few seconds before it became so intense that he blacked out.

 

He came to about an hour later. He felt the lumpy, uncomfortable, unmistakable feel of a motel mattress under himself, so he quickly guessed Sam had carried him to the car after he'd blacked out, and brought him here. Where ever in the hell /here/ was.  
The next thing he was aware of, was that his clothes felt way too tight, and his toes were scrunched up in his boots. Slowly, he opened his eyes. His whole body ached like he'd gone ten rounds with a bear, and he couldn't help but groan when he tried to sit up. The noise had barely escaped his throat when it was cut off again. It had sounded... Deeper. Forgetting he was sore for the moment, Dean's hands, his /man/ hands, flew to his, /thank god/, flat and firm chest.

"Sammy?" He croaked out, his hope jumping when he heard his normal voice.

"Right here." Sam called from the table.

"Am I...?"

Dean dared to hope.

"Yeah, you're you again."

Dean hurled himself off the bed, rushing to the motel bathroom. As soon as he saw himself in the mirror, he relaxed.  
Short hair, stubble covered cheeks, back to his six foot two height, and... Yup. After pulling out the front of his now way too tight jeans and uncomfortable underwear, he concluded that he was in fact, fully himself again.

Friggin' witches.

**Author's Note:**

> I hoped you guys liked it. Originally, I wanted to write Jo or another female hunter into this, someone who would tell Dean to suck it up or at least help him figure out some things, but in the end I didn't because I wanted Dean to have to figure out everything himself. The dialogue for the guys who were calling to Dean from across the street are things I have actually had called to me from across a street by some douchbags. I figured Dean should experience some objectification to really get the full experience of being a woman. Then I was getting near the end of the fic, and I realized Dean had gone through objectification, being grabbed by some guy in a bar, and being on the rag, all negatives. So I had to write in at least one good guy at the end. Again, PLEASE leave kudos, or comment to tell me what you thought, leave suggestions, etc.
> 
> PS: My Tumblr is im-here-cause-im-not-all-there98


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